Agents of Chaos
by DaDreadedJester
Summary: What if Loki - brother of Thor - God of Mischief and Lies, suddenly, lived on Midgard with that crazy clown they call, 'The Joker', in a derelict apartment, in Gotham? And what if they had a rather temperamental relationship, too? A series of conflabs and banter between the world's worst - or best - Agents of Chaos! ;D Joker/Loki
1. Chapter 1

•Agents of Chaos•

* * *

•Agents of Chaos•  
•(When Loki Met the Joker)•

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
(I hope this to be a series titled "Agents of Chaos" consisting of Loki/Joker banter!)

All in the title! Loki and the Joker meet in Blackgate Prison of Gotham City. XD

I thought these two would be great together, so I moulded 'DC' and 'Marvel' into one! •^_^•

When picturing this, in my minds eye, it felt very cinematic; so I went with the script format. Plus, when character's meet, it's all about the dialogue, right? ;D

Please let me know what you think!

Enjoy, my little Cupcakes of Chaos!

* * *

•When Loki Met The Joker•

* * *

JOKER: New fish, huh?

LOKI: I beg your pardon?

JOKER: You're the new kid on the block.

LOKI: I hardly see how you'd establish such a notion by comparing me to an aquatic creature.

JOKER: A brand, spanking new aquatic creature! Besides, maybe I was right; you seem kinda wet. Hehe! What's eatin' ya, kid?

LOKI: Why would you concern yourself with that?

JOKER: Just trying to make conversation. You need your friends, in here, toots; but if you'd rather go it alone, that's fine by me. Oh, and by the way, drop the soap and you're fucked... Butt-fucked, if you wanna regard the specifics.

LOKI: Ugh, what vulgarity. Anyway, you seem to be quite alright, alone. I take it you have not... dropped this soap, you speak of.

JOKER: Baby, I drop that shit on purpose! Hehe!

LOKI: I don't understand. You bring violation upon yourself?

JOKER: It's not rape if you enjoy it, sweet-cheeks.

LOKI: Why are all Midgardians motivated by such animalistic tendencies?

JOKER: Uh, what did you just call me?

LOKI: That is your species, is it not, clown?

JOKER: Whatever you say, Severus Snape. Y'know, if you don't mind my saying, you kinda look like you've just soiled your cute little magic-pants, you got there.

LOKI: I am not afraid, if that's what you're implying.

JOKER: Wouldn't blame you, if you were, princess. I mean, if I was gonna shower with a bunch of psychos, with a face that pretty? I'd be scared. Don't worry, honey; I'll make sure no one lays a finger that rather dashing hair, of yours! Hehehehe!

LOKI: I take it they shall remove your... facial attire?

JOKER: Yup. Still, we gotta take our masks off sometime, right? Oh, not to mention the "unorthodox colouring" of my luscious locks.

LOKI: That's unfortunate; I happen to be very fond of green.

JOKER: Well, DUH! You're practically the friggin' green-eyed monster, right? Jealous type, are we?

LOKI: I am unsure of what you are referring to.

JOKER: Jesus Christ! Considering your history, I thought you'd lie a Hell of a lot better!

LOKI: I would prefer not to talk about it, thank you. Not that you are at all concerned; you are merely trying to find out what "makes me tick" - I believe the phrase to be - by attempting to appear interested in my experiences, in order to lull me into a false sense of security, before finally manipulating me into accompanying you and your fellow "goon squad". After performing mundane, yet necessary tasks - which assist you in your elaborate schemes - I imagine you'd then kill me for kicks. I just so happened to "consider your history". Correct me, if I'm wrong.

JOKER: Huh. You're good. Well, seeing as you know me so well; maybe, you could tell me how I got these scars?

LOKI: I imagine they are self inflicted.

JOKER: What makes you say that?

LOKI: You are quite insane.

JOKER: Fair point.

LOKI: May I enquire further?

JOKER: Ask all you want, sweetie but I can't tell ya nothin'. Y'see, I don't remember a goddamn thing! That's why I asked you!

LOKI: You truly have no recollection of your past?

JOKER: Nope. Well, I've got some  
ideas but nothing's set in stone.

LOKI: A life without memories; how I envy you of that.

JOKER: I said you were the jealous type, didn't I? Hahahahahahahaha!

LOKI: Please stop. You laugh too much.

JOKER: Y'know, somethin' tells me you already dropped that soap, pretty boy.

LOKI: And why is that?

JOKER: Because you, my friend, are butt-hurt. Why is that, anyway?

LOKI: Are you always so insufferably inquisitive?

JOKER: Hehehe! Well, you better get used to that; just wait 'til the white-coats get here. They always have their questions. Shitloads of 'em.

LOKI: You mean... I am being held captive, like a common beast, for the sake of mere psychological evaluation?!

JOKER: Yeah... but that's not it, is it, Tinker Bell?

LOKI: It is not what?

JOKER: Why your cute little ass is so very butt-hurt.

LOKI: I'd rather not discuss any of this. Those pathetic parasites can enquire all they wish but they are psychically incapable of appreciating anything that regards my mental state. They have the utter nerve to label my actions that of insanity; whilst hopelessly blind to the fact they are that of pure genius. Why should I strive to gain acceptance from a species as petty and weak, as that of humanity? I needn't prove anything; not to them. Not to anyone. There is nothing left to prove, anymore.

JOKER: I had Daddy issues, too, y'know.

LOKI: What?

JOKER: Yeah, real asshole. Beat me backways; how he got his kicks. Gotta be hereditary. Hehe! How 'bout you?

LOKI: I don't... I mean, how do you  
know such things?

JOKER: Ah, so it is the father.

LOKI: Perhaps.

JOKER: Huh. So... What about 'im?

LOKI: It matters not; for he is not my father.

JOKER: Oh?

LOKI: I was adopted. He lied to me.

JOKER: Aaah, now we're getting somewhere! Next you'll be telling me your first childhood memory. Should I get the ink-blots, angel?

LOKI: You enjoy this.

JOKER: Hmmm?

LOKI: You enjoy gaining amusement via others' misfortune.

JOKER: And you don't?

LOKI: My expertise appear to be causing said 'misfortune', in the first place.

JOKER: Oh, then we'd make a fuckin' good team; would we not?

LOKI: Possibly. We may just have to test that delightful, little theory.

JOKER: Hehehehe... Y'know, Snow White, you're real cute, when you smile. You should wear it more often. It suits you.

LOKI: Are you attempting to flatter me, clown?

JOKER: Maybe. Why? Are you flattered?

LOKI: That would be telling, my friend.

JOKER: Hmmm, how 'mischievous' of you.

LOKI: That is, in fact, typical of my nature... if you "consider my history".

JOKER: Now, that does sound interesting. This could be very fun, indeed. What's your name, kid?

LOKI: I am Loki Laufeyson of Asgard.

JOKER: Well, Princess Loki of Disneyland; "this could be the start of a beautiful friendship." Hahahahahahahahaha!

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
There you go! I hope you liked it! Please review and let me know if you want more!

Peace out! 3


	2. Chapter 2

•Agents of Chaos•  
•(When Gods Drink to Devils)•

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

More Joki! Yes, I ship it... Don't act like you don't. ;D

Scrapped the script format, for this one and went with a more traditional writing style! XD

So, anyway, a drunk Loki - because he's, most likely depressed - and an emotionally conflicted Joker. What's not to love? ;D

Just fluffy stuff... with the odd innuendo, here and there. ;D

Hope you like, sweetums! XD

* * *

•When Gods Drink to Devils•

* * *

It had been approximately a year - an extremely eventful one, at that - since the deity met the devil.

The two souls seemed to morph into a single "unstoppable force" - as the clown deemed it - and had been near inseparable since their escape from Blackgate Prison; their relationship representing that of a rather dysfunctional Gemini.

It pleased the Joker, immensely, to know that he'd actually succeeded in verbally seducing a God; needless to say, this matter severely inflated his already-abundant ego. He'd honestly managed to "out-silver-tongue" the alleged silver-tongue! Now that, my friend, is irony. The Joker - of course - was an avid supporter of irony or any brand of humour, for that matter.

Slap-stick, however, was his personal favourite.

Upon reflection, he concluded there were a significant number of reasons why he chose Loki: they both had an acquired taste of attire, same cynical outlook regarding society's fabricated morals of self-righteousness, both of 'em had Daddy issues and - let's be honest about the God of Lies, here - he was kinda cute.

Initially, he had enjoyed the complex dynamic of their... relationship? What would you even call it?

The Joker, quite seriously - and he wasn't often one to be serious - had no idea.

Anyway, now things had... shifted, somewhat.

In the beginning, the Joker would consider Loki a source of amusement: taking delight in pressing him with painful questions, watching a God - for God's sake - squirm and writhe when the Joker's jibes touched a nerve. The clown took relentless pleasure in, casually, chiselling away at the God of Lies' frozen facade. He merely wanted to provoke him, get in his head; the guy's mind was a maelstrom of intimate demons waiting to be exploited. I mean, when a murderous clown is faced with Pandora's box, what does he wanna do?

Well, open it, obviously.

However, things had changed; the initial tension between them - the treading on egg-shells, the Joker seemed to thrive upon - had died, somewhat. Loki hadn't proved to be as easy a nut to crack, as he'd originally thought; yes, the Joker's "advances" - whatever their intentions - clearly made the God uncomfortable but he hadn't submitted to the total-crack-up-crazy-break-stuff-phase, yet.

Joker didn't like that: not... one... bit.

On the contrary, Loki had responded in a very unexpected manner: he seemed to become more attentive and... 'fluffy' towards the clown. It was plain weird. It wasn't that the Joker opposed a... physical relationship - as a matter of fact, he practically enforced it - but he was hardly a romantic.

Unfortunately, Loki was.

Loki seemed to have... domesticated him, completely demolishing all hopes of the partners-in-destructive-crime-ideal. After much contemplation, the Joker believed all the "lovey-dovey-bullshit" started when he'd returned home - after a hard day's pillaging, punching and poisoning - to find Loki had made tea and crumpets; how bloody British. The situation had transpired something like:

JOKER: Jesus, if I'd known I'd married Jeeves, I would've bought a better suit.

LOKI: You are not funny, clown. Despite your delusions toward such matters, you are not funny.

JOKER: Nice to see you, too, pumpkin pie!

LOKI: I have prepared supper, now - please - sit.

JOKER: Yes, m'am. Where's your apron, by the way?

LOKI: Would it, honestly, kill you to cease your utter dismissiveness and say, 'thank you'? Just this once?

JOKER: Hahahahaha! Sorry, Mother! I'm not even fucking hungry! Did you consider that, Cinderella? Did you? I doubt it.

LOKI: No... I didn't. I am sorry. In that case, I shall clear up and retire to bed, now. Goodnight, Mister Joker.

JOKER: Master Joker, to you. Hehehe. And aren't ya gonna eat your culinary masterpiece?

LOKI: I, also, have no appetite, at present. I made them for you, as you have been active, all day.

JOKER: Oh.

Ugh. The clown shuddered away the rancid memory. Jeez, it was like living with another Harley! (Though, thankfully, Loki was way more intelligent... and attractive.) I mean, he'd even felt... guilt. That puppy-eyed son of a bitch. The clown's companion - now, roommate - was not supposed to tame him - the King of Chaos - and mother him; smother him, more like. It was sickening and very, very frustrating.

* * *

The Joker entered their derelict apartment to find none-other-than Loki Laufeyson prostrated, lazily, across the moth-eaten couch... which was - to the Joker's unconcealed surprise - surrounded by numerous bottles of Jack Daniels'... and all of them were empty.

Loki moaned groggily into the cushions but - after processing the Joker's return - sprang upward, caught in incandescent excitement; his jade-green eyes, blazing with adoration. He catapulted from the couch, in an attempt to approach the clown... however, he promptly stumbled into the coffee table. Collecting himself, with wounded pride, he then neared the astounded Joker with a gait that wavered with drink. He stopped - inches from the clown's face (which was currently a mask of disbelief) - and gave a sultry smile:

"Darling, you've come back for meeee!"

He slurred the words like an intoxicated serenade, as he flung his arms dramatically around the Joker's neck. He then flopped his dazed head upon the Joker's boney shoulder, inhaling his murky scent of gasoline and gunpowder.

'Oh, God', the Clown worried, internally, 'I did not sign up for this.'

Loki did not notice the man's silence, as he continued:

"I thought you wouldn't..." - he gave a high-pitched hiccup - "...ever, ever, ever come back."

He forced his leaden head from the man's shoulder and regarded his mask of decay with glazed eyes. He brought a slender hand, in front of the clown's face and started to ghost his deft fingers over the ragged scars.

The Joker suppressed a flinch, and continued to watch the drunk God - he still couldn't believe that Loki, of all people, was shit-faced - with complete fascination... and, perhaps, a tad of fear. He didn't like people touching his scars and he didn't like drinkers, either.

"I think they're pretty." Loki stated matter-of-factly but could not appear serious when so, obviously drunk.

The Joker gave in, slightly and smirked; the scars had been referred to as many things... but never 'pretty'. However, he gave a sarcastic response:

"Really? You find my "potentially self-inflicted mutilations"... 'pretty', pumpkin?"

Loki let slip an impish giggle, entirely akin to that of a flirtatious school-girl. He raised his index finger to the clown's powered face:

"Yes - I - do!"

He punctuated each word with a clumsy 'tap' to the Joker's nose. The Joker was... speechless; a rare event for a man of his kind. He'd never thought Mr. Butthurt of the Bookworms could be so... tactile or such a light-weight, either. It unnerved the clown, most certainly.

However, that was not to be the extent of his worries.

"Did you know..." - the God suddenly spat with exaggerated bitterness; he swayed like a mast in a storm, unable to truly balance himself - "...I hate alcohol? Had to drink it..." - he flung his lanky arms outward, dramatically - "...all the time back h-home." He gave a small wretch, as he finished his lament.

The Joker gave an ironic snort:

"Could've fooled me."

"I was being sincere!" He protested with childish annoyance, irritated at the clown was not taking him seriously, for some reason. He, then, switched his mood - again - to that of solemn mournfulness, eyes swimming with inebriated sadness:

"My brother once said I was...", he interrupted himself, as he swallowed audibly and gave a loud sniff, "...I was 'incapable of sincerity'. I can be honest, can't I? Tell me I can."

He turned to the clown, with child-like questioning carved into his features and - to the Joker's horror - his alabaster countenance wore traces of liquid that wasn't alcohol.

'Oh, God. No. No, no, no, no, no.'

The most feared super-villain in Gotham City took a sharp step back - clumsily colliding with the door, behind him - from the withered, frail form of Loki Laufeyson. Why?

"Uh... I don't do tears, honey-pie. I just— I don't— Nothing personal but what I mean is—"

The clown all-but-clawed for the door handle, as the trembling of Loki's bottom lip became ever-more-apparent. Loki's gaze was fixated on something only he could appear to visualise, eyes swimming with fresh, hot tears.

Suddenly, his head snapped up when he heard the 'click' of the door. If looks could kill... we could all say, "farewell" to the Clown Prince of Crime. Loki glared, murderously at the clown - who currently depicted the definition of, 'rabbit in the headlights' - but Loki merely sighed and fell into a heavy state of melancholy:

"Just go."

Silence.

Suddenly, there was a regurgitation of rage - words infused with pathetic, tearful breathes - as Loki found his voice (which was still slurred with drink):

"Go, clown! Leave! Leave like they always do: my father left me at infancy, Odin left me to rot in the void, my brother left me to rot in a cell and my mother—"

He froze, stunned by the painful collision his own words brought upon him. He started to shake, his scrawny form consumed with shudders. The Joker swore he could hear the guy's bones rattling.

"My mother..."

The Joker stepped away from the door, finally approaching the wreck of God. He couldn't leave the poor bastard, now... not when he knew what was coming.

And, sure enough, Loki started to cry; ugly, heaving sobs which seemed to tear his throat, mercilessly. He wept like a child, as he descended into hysteria:

"I want my mother..." - he howled like a wolf may at the moon - "...I want my m-m-mother."

The Joker dared to draw nearer to the tear-stained face, the situation seemed to familiar to him to disregard. He missed his mother, too... despite the fact he hadn't the faintest idea who she was, anymore. God, what he'd give to, at least, know her name.

Funny what the heart wants, isn't it?

He pulled Loki into a tight and sufficiently awkward embrace... What? He wasn't good with hugs, OK? Subconsciously maintaining his rigid stance, he attempt to console his companion.

"Mama. Mama. I want, mama."

The Joker couldn't conceal a giggle; it appeared Loki was immersed within a childhood memory, as he drowned in his own tears. Wow, he was wasted.

"S,o that's who you are, then." Murmured the Joker, as a form of confirmation, to himself. "You're just a little kid cryin' for his Mommy, aren't ya?"

However, Loki had clearly heard him, for he nodded his head against the Joker's garish shirt.

"C'mon, buddy." The clown sighed; he found being nice hideously tedious. He just wanted peace, now; time to think, time to plan. He needed to get Loki to sleep, somehow. He prayed to the God's that this one, in particular would conk out, soon. In a vain attempt to get the God to sleep, the clown led him to the couch.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

That's all folks! XD

Next part coming soon!


	3. Chapter 3

•Agents of Chaos•  
•(When A Clown Gets Cuddled)•

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Set directly after the last one; so Loki still pissed and the Joker's still... well, Joker. ;D

Enjoy! X

* * *

•When Clown A Gets Cuddled•

* * *

"Note to self," muttered the Clown Prince of Crime, as he pinched the bridge of his nose with deft fingers, closing his hollowed eyes whilst giving a exasperated sigh, "...never let him drink, again."

Loki curled his colt-like limbs around the waist of his partner (in crime), snaking into the clown's side whilst omitting a dragged sigh of blissful contempt. The Joker stiffened his angular jaw, inhaling sharply, as he visibly tensed the entirety of his being. However, the God payed no heed - lost in his affections - and proceeded to nestle his head of silken, ebony tresses into the painted man's protruding ribs, like a love-struck cat. He all but purred against him.

The sight made the Joker feel quite nauseous. He was merely a kicked puppy to him... or - given the current circumstances - more like a bitch in the heat.

He closed his eyes - to compose himself, more than anything - and swallowed his poison, for now.

Suddenly, those same, piercing eyes flashed open, holding a flicker of fear. The silence was shattered by those dreaded words, that never failed in clamping his chest in a fist of ice; a frozen heart which then circulated a callous, coldness though every course of his anatomy. A confounded utter of delightful deceit that always ended in disaster:

"I love you."

The words were slightly slurred - due to their inebriated speaker - but were sincere, none-the-less.

However, the clown rolled his darkened eyes with unadulterated impatience. He gave an exaggerated sigh - heavily infused with boredom - as he pondered upon Loki's sentimentally with bitter contempt:

"Is that supposed to be funny, darling?"

His voice smooth - words fluttering with an air of eerie softness - his tone was almost... charming. Then again, the man truly was the humanisation of charisma... Well, give or take a few psychotic tendencies. It was a remarkable pity that the Joker was, really, a conniving bastard.

Loki, suddenly, retreated from his languid embrace; retracting his lanky limbs, swiftly from the man's slender waist. He gaped at him - with glazed eyes of jade - with an air of betrayal, an expression of confusion and hurt etched into his elven features. Joker regarded it cripplingly pathetic... if not slightly adorable.

The God, suddenly, retaliated with injured defiance:

"Yes, I do! How could you say that? Master Joker, I do love you."

(God, he did love it when he called him that; just a pity it wasn't quite within the context the Joker desired... but we'll not dwell on that.)

Then the painted man's veil of impassiveness betrayed him; for Loki's words were saturated with such compassion and honesty... he might have actually believed them.

He returned the porcelain prince's gaze and - momentarily - abandoned his sarcastic facade. His eyes entities of their own, as they swam with a tender affection that seemed to be seasoned with pity. He gave a saddened smile - teased with his grotesque mutilations - as he replied with a solemn softness:

"You're drunk. You don't love me, puddin'."

Loki maintained his expression of bewilderment, his retort almost immediate:

"Why not?"

Joker couldn't stop the playful curl of his lips; the exaggerated pout of the deity's pale, pink lips was comically juvenile. He sighed wearily, nipping Loki's pointed chin between a paint-stained thumb and index finger. He adopted the tone of a withered parent trying to explain a complicated concept to an uncomprehending child. He chuckled and continued - slowly - spelling out each word:

"You're only sayin' that 'cause nobody else is listening. You don't know what love is, anymore, sweetheart."

He felt a small pool of guilt churn within the pit of his gut, as his kicked puppy visibly flinched from the sting of his words. However, then Loki's expression shifted into something more solemn, more mature; his intense stare unyielding as he enquired, cooly:

"Do you?"

Well, he had him there.

The Joker ignored the twist of pain, concealed within the depth of his chest and - instead - smiled at the God, playfully:

"As matter of fact..." - the clown proclaimed with an air of pride - "...I do."

Loki stared at him, quite incredulous. Then his glassy eyes - still reddened with tears - widened in fear, as the clown burst into an eerie fit of giggles. He did that a lot... and Loki would be forever left to wonder just what was quite, so funny. The clown denoted the God's confusion and - in a tone thick with madness - delivered the punchline:

"Love's just a joke."

Silence.

Loki started, violently, as another round of laughter escaped that horrifying mask of decay. The laughter was relentless, manic; it seemed to depict a much deeper, more macabre form of insanity Loki had never seen before.

It killed him to admit it, but this mortal terrified him.

He simply didn't understand the man; a code he just couldn't decipher. Why did he laugh? Why did revel within morphing all of life's occurrences and happenings into nothing more than a joke? What was so fun—

Then it happened; a strange sensation awoke inside the God.

He started to laugh, too.

He began to accompany the clown, cackling in unison; the derelict apartment became saturated with manic delirium. Tears of hilarity rolled down each pale facade, as they cradled their, now, aching ribs, shoulders practically spasming in laughter.

Then something quite unexpected occurred, regarding both parties; the laughter - all-but-squeals of hysteria - shifted into another form of emotion. The frantic breaths - nearing hyperventilation - became more burdened and pained, their tears of joy became tainted, somewhat.

Yes, the clown and God - whilst positioned on the moth-eaten sofa in a "couple-like" manner - started to cry. The laughter began to blend into uncontrollable sobs.

They, sort of, clung to each other, clawing at their garish attires. They remained trapped within their tableau of travesty, for quite some time. Suddenly, the devastated God - still hopelessly drunk - gasped his lament:

"W-why... does no one love us, M-m-master Joker?"

The clown froze - tears ceasing, temporarily - as the God shuddered within his rigid embrace. His hugging skills still had not improved within the past hour. He pulled away from the frail deity and gave him a tender smile... Well, it might have been tender had his ragged scars not spoiled its innocence: they proved a constant reminder that he really was just a madman, the same way Loki was just a liar.

"Well, no one loves a homicidal fuck-up with Daddy issues, do they?" The clown chuckled, softly, which invoked a weak smile from Loki.

The God stared into the clown's darkened eyes and grew quite lost within their entity; miniature vortexes of inexplicable demons, no one would ever know. The thought completely intrigued him.

"But, hey..." - the Joker chimed, suddenly, snapping Loki from his revery - "...at least we've got each other, right?"

"Yes." Loki replied, contentedly, as he slumped languidly into the couch; all of this 'emotional outlet of repressed issues' was utterly exhausting.

Yeah, at least they had each other. It was hardly love - neither of them had the capacity for that - but at least it was something.

'Yes.' The God pondered with a whimsical smile, as he stared at the rotting ceiling, '...at least it's something.'


	4. Chapter 4

•Agents of Chaos•  
•(Loki's Christmas with the Clown)•

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Thought I'd put a festive twist on these bad boys! ;D

Merry Christmas, guys! X

* * *

•Loki's Christmas with the Clown•

* * *

"On the twelfth day of Christmas, my shrink hath sent to me:  
Twelve vigilantes,  
Eleven butchered doctors,  
Ten detonators,  
Nine male neurotics,  
Eight loony ladies,  
Seven serial killers,  
Six shitty, ink-blots,  
Five corrosive acids,  
Four tranquillisers,  
Three severed heads,  
Two crazy coots,  
And a butt-hurt deity!"

The Joker concluded his festive - and, rather, customised - serenade with a flourish of exaggerated jazz hands. He flashed the garish grin of a madman, exposing two martial rows of plaque-coated teeth.

Loki remained stoic - pointed nose stuck in yet, another book - expression completely unamused.

The Joker sighed, defeatedly and flopped, dramatically onto the couch. The God flinched at the impact.

"Whatcha reading?"

The Joker craned his neck, inquisitively, to view the yellowed pages. Sensing the clown was not going to cease his incessant badgering, Loki slammed the book shut with haughty impatience.

"I was reading 'A Christmas Carol'... before I was rudely interrupted; consider it research. I am attempting to comprehend the... oddities your Midgardian customs."

He frowned and flung the book carelessly onto the coffee table. The Joker smirked; Loki became hilariously irritable, when he did not understand something... and irritating him, further, was just too much fun to resist.

"And how's that going, sweetums?"

Loki rolled his eyes, wearily:

"Well, so far I've deducted that your 'festive season' merely consists of spirits antagonising cynical octogenarians."

Loki shifted his position to glare at the clown, with acidity:

"That has not happened, yet."

"Yes it has!" The Joker chimed, playfully, an impish giggle rising in his throat. He smirked toward Loki's enquiring expression and responded with:

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Cheer!"

He cackled manically, waggling his spindly fingers - directly in front of the God's face, causing Loki to cross his eyes - to communicate a sense of magic. Loki slapped his hands away and huffed childishly, folding his lanky arms and sinking deeper into the cushions.

"Jesus, no need to be a Scrooge!" The clown snapped, bitterly, as he mimicked Loki's sullen position.

Suddenly, his sooty eyes widened when he spied Loki's deft fingers reaching for an abandoned wine bottle. He swiftly whipped a callous hand around a dainty wrist:

"No way, princess; when you're drunk, you kinda turn into the Ghost of Christmas Queer. I mean, you're cute but I don't do fluffy stuff."

(No, the Joker favoured relationships and didn't really involve... talking. He preferred communicating via more... physical methods. Unfortunately, for him the idea repulsed Loki.)

The clown chuckled, as he re-placed Loki's hand to it's original position. Loki, merely, appeared horrified toward the clown's verbal emasculation. He stuttered, clumsily:

"What? I don't— I mean, I am not— What happened last time?"

Oh, he really should've asked that.

The clown stretched his lips, menacingly, moulding his scars into odd protrusions and indentations. He bared his yellowed teeth, ominously, to a petrified-looking Loki:

"You told me you loved me."

The Joker watched in delight, as Loki's alabaster countenance contorted into a feverish shade of green, he clutched his stomach in a feeble attempt to combat the brutal wave of nausea.

"I did what?"

"Anyway, no matter!"

The Joker chirped cheerfully, as he gave Loki a hearty smack on the back, which promptly sent the God's slight form flying forward from the sunken coach, toppling onto the rotting floorboards.

"Tinsel Time!"

The Joker sprung upwards with manic exuberance and all-but-danced his way toward a mysterious cardboard box which sat, sadly, on the window sill; it appeared quite frayed and compressed, as if it's owner was not very kind to it.

Loki could empathise.

However, as the Joker revealed the glorious contents of the box, Loki's eyes widened in wonder; the clown happily enveloped himself in lengths of strange, shimmering... rope? He gasped, slightly, as the Joker revealed more strands of the curious material: gleaming gold, purist purple - which, of course, was promptly wrapped around the clown's neck - rich red and - to Loki's delight - a gorgeous green.

"Here, Oscar..." - Joker chirped, as he flung the sparkling strand, carelessly, in Loki's direction - "...have this one; it'll suit you."

"Oscar?" Loki questioned, as he began to study his new toy, with child-like fascination.

"It's a 'Sesame Street' reference: grumpy, green guy." Joker provided, dryly; again, forgetting how little Loki knew about this heap of rock. However, Loki blatantly ignored him, as his attention was still fixated on the gorgeous glints of the green 'garment'.

"It's tinsel, by the way." The clown informed him, politely. He couldn't conceal his smile, as he watched Loki's eyes sparkle in a manner akin to the tinsel itself; he was so, cripplingly incredulous. The Joker thought it quite adorable, actually.

"What is its purpose?" Loki breathed, eyes never leaving his festive prize. His deft fingers wafting amongst the highlights of the tinsel, as if believing them to be the flames of a candle.

"Uh, you hang 'em on a tree or some shit... but I didn't have one." He bowed his head, grease-covered hair curtaining his garish facade. "Sorry 'bout that."

"It's quite alright." Loki replied, as he swung the extensive strand of tinsel around his thin neck, akin to the manner of which he wore his collection of impressive scarves.  
"I'd much prefer to wear it as a rather opulent accessory." He added with an air of pride.

"You look hot, honey." Sniped the Joker with a sarcastic smirk. The expected retort was instant:

"You look equally outrageous." Loki snapped, indignantly; gesturing toward the clown's own festive neck-piece.

"Well, how about we top it off with these?"

The Joker darted his hand into the depth of the box and produced a pair of ostentatious bobbles; naturally they were a deep purple in colour. He strung the thin strings around his powered ears and the decorations appeared obscene, bulbous earrings. He batted his eye-lashes, playfully:

"What d'ya think?"

Loki allowed himself a giggle; he would not admit it - for fear of inflating the clown's insufferable ego - but he found the clown rather amusing, sometimes. He could see why Midgardians deemed him 'The Joker', anyway.

"There should be some green ones in there, if ya want any." The clown offered with a wink.

Loki rolled his eyes but submitted to rummaging amongst the decorations in pursuit of his own... interpretive jewellery. He beamed impishly, as he mimicked his partners actions; after which, he beamed impishly, as he sported his festive earrings with coy pride.

They both looked ridiculous.

"Well, now we're all dressed up..." - clown kicked the box dismissively, to the side and adopted a smile which, practically, bled mischief - "...we need somewhere to go." He offered the God his arm, as he flung the tinsel over his shoulder, with a theatrical flourish.

Loki raised a quizzical eyebrow but took the clowns arm, anyway. He was curious as to what havoc the clown had in mind... Well, he was the God of Mischief, after all.

"How 'bout we burn down a Christmas tree?" The clown chimed eerily, his voice dropped with desire for destruction. Then his joy faded, as he added with dismay:

"Damn it, I used up the last of the gasoline." He mimicked the stance and expression of an eight year old child that'd just been told Santa wasn't real. Loki was surprised when he felt a small spark of pity for the clown: how odd.

"I could assist with the... pyrotechnics." The God suggested, calmly. However, a smile - which screamed malice - teased with his pale, pink lips.

"Really?" The Joker's bowed head snapped upward, in an instant. Eyes blazing with manic hope.

It was Loki's turn to roll his eyes toward the Joker's lack of knowledge. He cleared his throat, before he announced:

"I have, also, been branded as the God of Fire, Master Joker."

"No-fucking-way!" The Joker all-but-squealed with delight, trapping the God's arm in a vice-like grip. "Why didn't you say so, before?"

Loki gave a weak smile; a warm pool of pride formed in his stomach, he felt content - and almost flattered - that someone could show such vibrant interest in him. Maybe, the clown wasn't so bad, after all.

The two chuckled, like a pair of drunkards, as they neared the door, which lead to the rancid streets of Gotham City.

"Are you aware of what I require for such a stunt clown?"

The Joker merely stared, inquiringly. His blackened eyes then gleamed with astounded delight, as Loki began to sing:

"Four incantations,  
Three brief spells,  
Two crazy coots,  
And a psychotic clown for a friend!"

The two simultaneously burst into a desperate fits of gleeful laughter, as they strode with pride form the rotted doorway; minds - at one - attuned to blissful mischief and malice, as they set out to paint the town a Santa-Claus-red, on that fateful Christmas Eve.

Well, they aren't called 'Agents of Chaos' for nothing, are they?


End file.
